Heroine(41)

“See you when I get home?” Mom asked, already edging toward her car.

“Um . . . I might go over to Jo—Jodie’s.” It’s the worst cover ever, changing Josie’s name to Jodie. But at least I should be able to remember it.

“The girl from therapy?”

I nodded. When you only lie with your neck it’s easier.

Mom told me to have a good time and sped off, and when I turned to tell Carolina good game she was already gone. The only person left in the lot was Nikki, walking dejectedly to her car, her spikes still shiny and new since she didn’t get any playing time. I considered calling out to her but settled for a wave, thinking that next time maybe she’d play it smart and get on the bus with the JV.

Then I went home and swiped Mom’s wedding ring from her jewelry drawer, hawked it at a pawn shop, and drove here to Edith’s, ready to get high and forget everything. Forget the curveball from Carolina that I almost dropped because I’d been adjusting my stance to take some weight off my hip. Forget how she didn’t even glance my way when we left the field. Forget how Nikki’s face had gone from hopeful to shattered as the innings wore on and I didn’t wear down. Forget the quarter-carat wedding ring that once meant so much to two people, and now means so little that it was jammed under cheap Mardi Gras beads.

Forget that I stole from my mom.

Forget that I don’t have the cash to keep this going.

Forget to be awkward when I nestle against Luther.

Forget.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


habit: a fixed or established custom; the involuntary tendency to perform certain actions

I wake to midafternoon light filtered through cracked blinds, the sound of the toilet flushing, and Josie complaining about her own morning breath. Edith wanders out of the bathroom, her clothes rumpled from sleeping in the chair, her face betraying her age. I know she loves having us here, but right now she looks like all she wants to do is go back to bed, but she’s too good of a hostess to do it.

“C’mon.” I give Luther a nudge and his eyes come open with effort. Derrick’s on the floor, refusing to do much more than huddle into a tighter ball and insist that everything hurts and he’s dying the more we try to wake him.

“Derrick, I’ll let you drive my car if you get up,” Josie says, and that does the trick. He’s up in a second, revitalized—whether at the thought of driving her car or getting some alone time with Josie is hard to say. Either way, he’s got a second wind and the two of them are out the door before I get a chance in the bathroom.

Luther emerges, water still running down his face from where he splashed himself. With Josie gone, Edith’s mood drops visibly and I move quickly in the bathroom, as eager to get out of her house as she is to have us gone. I eye the lone toothbrush, but it’s definitely old and certainly Edith’s, the bristles so worn they’re splayed, a small white explosion that looks too soft to do any good.

I squeeze some toothpaste onto my finger and do the best I can, scrubbing my face with some horrific old-lady soap and drying my hands on a towel with a monogram on it. ELH and BEH are the matching pairs, and I’m thinking what it must feel like for Edith to look at her dead husband’s initials every time she’s in here, and why she didn’t just put them away.

“Yo, Catalan. Get a move on,” Luther calls from the living room, and I finish up, touched that he’s waiting on me.

“See you kids later,” Edith says, shepherding us to the door. “Drive safe. Tell Josie to call me.”

We promise to do both and duck out the back. Winter hasn’t quite let go in Ohio yet, and a stiff breeze hits us in the face when we come around the corner of the house, Luther wrapping one arm around me as I turn into him, both of us shielding the other from the chill. It’s nice.

“I s’pose you all are her grandkids too?” A voice asks, and we both jump, a little guiltily. Edith’s neighbor is on the other side of the fence, gathering up dead limbs that have been knocked from trees by the wind.

“Yep,” Luther says, recovering first, not taking his arm from around me. “Big genes run in our family.”

I choke on a laugh and the guy gives us a glare before going about his business, muttering something under his breath that I’m sure isn’t complimentary. But I’m too sluggish to take offense, too comfortable with Luther, too relieved at the thought of an entire day to myself to really care.

I say goodbye to Luther and head home, a playlist that Josie made for me filling the car. It’s light and silly, pop music that Carolina would unplug a speaker from if anyone dared to play it in the locker room. I would too, usually. But today it feels right, with the sun breaking through clouds and a belated text from Josie warning me about the nosy neighbor. I’m not worried about anything or thinking too hard.

We won our first game. I’ve got friends outside of softball. My leg doesn’t hurt too bad. I’m happy.

Who says drugs are bad?

Mom’s napping hard when I get home, both of us having had a long night. I pull her bedroom door shut with a click so that the noise of my shower won’t wake her. I take my time under the hot water, finding all the knots in my muscles and working them out slowly, concentrating on my quads especially. The ropy muscles of my hips have grown since I got back to working out, and I can’t get past them to the screws anymore, no matter how hard I dig. I give up once I’ve raised a bruise, aware that I’ll probably have to explain it next time we’re stripping down in the locker room.